


The ghost of Type Flo

by KingPengu



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: 'common' victorians and 'strange' modern people aren't that different., An unexpected adventure, Gen, Irrational Anger, New Friendships, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingPengu/pseuds/KingPengu
Summary: Realities clash, merge and separate all in one. Who knew you could throw someone's reality so far into what was once thought impossible?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	The ghost of Type Flo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sharknana29](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharknana29/gifts).



> a cheeky fat thanks to quiet_crisis_in_the_corner for helping me with little edits and helping me come up with ideas.

Combing over the sands for a Source I found last night ain't what I'd usually spend my daytime doing. There's plenty of stuff I'd rather do, believe me, gettin’ some grub being one. I’m hungry as shit.

I wanted to bag the Source last night but this little shit was harder to deal with than expected, so I decided I could return later. Thanks, past me. Thanks a bunch.

My feet squelch in my shoes as I wade through the mud of the Thames. After what's definitely way too long, I find it in all its glory, wedged in the sand and dirt, on top of a soggy newspaper. It's a tattered leather glove. It finds its way into my bag sharpish. 

That soggy newspaper catches my eye so I take a proper gander* at it, as a habit is a habit. I skim over the words, and, wouldn't you know it -

**_The ultimate betrayal. Occult experiments in the heart of London. Penelope Fittes’ involvement goes back years. Inside today: M. U. Barnes and A. J. Lockwood finally speak out…_ **

One of the more dramatic weeks of my life. Not only that, it's the week that inspired my current doings. Not that any of them have a clue what my doings are. No one does. I like it that way. Secrets is currency, and I like a healthy exchange rate.

Anyways, into my pocket the newspaper goes.

I make my way across the mud and sand until I get to a load of vines, bushes, leaves and bits of wood. I spend ages shifting it all off to be greeted with the opening to an old sewage pipe abandoned by the government in what must be the early 1870s. Or 1960s. Some time I wasn’t born, anyway.

Inside there’s a portal to the other side creating a hubbub, and it never fails to catch my attention. It gets louder as I step closer to it. I stop when my shoes clink against the chains, and take the gloves out and throw them into the iron circle. It clacks atop of the other Sources, followed by a ding, skid and pop. My stomach rumbles, reminding me of my want for a good fill. So I, with a great deal of effort, close everything off. Tonight is the night and I can't dawdle about.

\---

The setting of the sun and the humming of the otherworldly gate get darker and louder in perfect harmony. It's now or never. 

Once I've chucked the wood off to the side of the pipe and been confronted with the portal, I'm disappointed to find the humming and buzzing is less substantial than it should be. It's to be expected, what with my talents fading and all that, but it still hurts. But the glow, while not as bright as I'd hope, is definitely there and I know I'm in business.

With the encouragement of a relic meetup I want to attend tomorrow, I whip on my spirit cape (lent to me by George who, to my surprise, didn't even question it when I asked), an extra layer of gloves and chuck my Hempen bag on the floor. My hand is on the metal chain and I'm ready to go in.

I glance at the portal one last time and take a breath to prepare myself. I've heard it's not easy to cross to the Other Side. I notice a figure hovering peacefully above its Source just beyond the circle above. All logic escapes me and I lurch forward in an attempt to pick it up and put it back in before it's too late. I completely forget the circle is right in front of me. There I go, hurtling forward like a rugby player who's got the ball but the ball is made of spikes and I’m gonna die.

The cold hits and hubbub of the spirits suddenly turns to roars, louder than I thought possible. My eyes close in shock and when they open I find myself standing outside the chain, face to face with a grey boy who just about reaches my shoulder. He’s staring at me. 

I know from what Lockwood said that the ghosts are outta get you on the Other Side too and you have to avoid them at all costs. My brain says _leg it_ * _. Leg it now. Go. Move._ But for some reason my heart's saying _it means no harm. Don't move. He won't notice you if you stay still_. 

My brain knows this is bullshit ‘cos it reacts to your body heat, not movements, but I ain't one to go against what my heart wants most. So I just freeze. Like a very cold statue.

"Can you ‘ear me?"

The ghost boy whispers. His ghostly lips are moving fast.

As calmly as I can, I respond with a "Hey".

His clothes are covered with mud, which I have to admire. A man after my own heart I suppose. His clothes are old. Victorian old. I don't know how long he's been sticking around to be heard but it must've felt like a lifetime. (OK, a bit insensitive. Maybe not. Nah, he won't mind.)

The dead boy-child starts talking to me again but I can’t hear him because I've only just started taking in my surroundings. The decrepit and dingy sewer looks off in the world of the living, and seeing it even more obscured from reality in this land of the dead really is a sight. There's usually a constant drip at the far left that follows into the most pathetic stream you could imagine. Well, that's all gone. I'd heard that there's no running of any kind here, and they really meant it.

"Oy!" 

The puny mud-rat yells in front of my face. Naturally, I grimace. That kind of behaviour deserves a chuck into the Thames.

"Listen! Look ‘ere. See, I need your ‘elp. It's not much I promise. Come on. Do help me, please, miss." 

His voice is whiny and cracks halfway through. I can't help but wonder how long he’s been waiting to say that.

"Help with _what?_ " I snarl. (It’s the hanger*.) He responds with an exasperated sigh and a movement of the arms. He stutters a bit getting the start of his sentence.

"I told you it already. The ring. Me mam's ring. That Source that _you_ found, God knows ‘ow long ago. I need to find that. Find it in _my_ lifetime." 

The annoyance in his voice is admirable. I scoff and nod in disbelief.

"And how'd you reckon we go about that, then?"

"I'll let you in on a secret."

"Oh yeah?"

"When we ‘ave unfinished business, see, we have ways to relive moments in our past to complete the business. But we need the living folk to help us, don’t we? You get my drift?"

"You're drifting nowhere in this water-barren world, matey."

"Right. Yeah. Really funny. Truly ‘ilarious." 

The sarcasm in his voice is commendable.

"Ghosts can come back and ask for fings, but sometimes it ain't that easy. If you touch this ring here…" 

He points at the ring on the floor. I look at it, then look at the Sources behind me. Most of those are gone. 

"... It'll let you ‘elp me go past the Other Side. You can finish my unfinished business for me. It's said that the person whose business it is that needs finishin’ will join you, but for some barmy* reason they can't do it alone. _I_ can't do it alone. So please, mysterious weird-jacketed, straw-haired modern bird*. ‘elp. Me. Out."

"Fine."

"Fine? You will?"

"Under one condition."

His body droops in disappointment but he agrees before I even get to tell him what it is. Once I have said my bit, he doesn’t reconsider his support. Like a chump.

Then a series of draining events and rules are explained. If he dies when I go back, I die permanently stuck in a weird time space loop, I go back to 2 weeks before he dies. I only have one night to fulfil his wish, his Source is what will take me to this place and as that's the reason for him still being here, it's also what will bring me back. Lotta fantasy bollocks* but I’m really not in a position to argue.

The ring is lifted just in front of me, shaking lightly as it hovers. A golden glow surrounds it. He tells me to reach out and hold it with my iced over gloves. I do it. Immediately after, my body goes weird. The kind of weird I imagine a black hole feels like - sucking me into oblivion and spitting me out at the other end, unsure of what part of me is missing and what parts aren't. Wouldn’t recommend it.

The biting cold envelopes me. I feel a pocket of air surround me. I wouldn't call it freezing - not like the other side; but I certainly wouldn't call it a comfortable neutral. Definitely still in the minus degrees. I welcome the change.

I feel myself almost land on my feet into a new reality, my eyes blurring before focusing. I haven't moved but it's all so different. I start to see more details. A clearer image. 

The walls lack the modern day rot but make up dingy-ness with crusty (what I suppose should be) white paint cracking and splintering off. Little flakes sit on the murky water that's going at a steady flow straight into the Thames. 

My good old pal, the drip, is there, slightly stronger than usual. I welcome that too. A bit of home. 

What's strange however, is how this drop of shit of a boy is nowhere to be seen.

There's many things I feel the need to do now. I need to know where I am, when I am and I suppose I need to find where this ring is. The ring can wait, though. 

I assume he has to show up soon - I'm not doing anything if he doesn't show up - and proper quick, too. It’s his problem at the end of the day. So to compensate, I take it on myself to inspect the area in all its original glory.

I attempt to run my fingers over the cracking paint to find my hand not touch it at all. It hits me that I'm as useless as a ghost - making me a ghost. 

I stand and look around myself, unsure of what to do. Then, I notice a drain cover. My curiosity spikes. I've managed to float up to it and stick my head through the metal faster than you could say liquorice. 

I look around, noting the shops full of random knick-knacks. Food stalls. Carriages being driven by men sat at the front holding candle-lit glass boxes. I recognise nothing. Is it still the London I know?   
  


Then I spot a drunk man taking a piss in the gutter.

Yep. Definitely the same London. I guess things don’t change much.

What really catches my attention however, are three children on a pavement outside a shop called Connolly & Sons (the shop itself appears to be full of tools, old clothes and other used things. A shop I'd consider pretty handy. You don't get much like that around now.).

The children are playing with a rock and a tin. They're laughing and pushin’ each other around, trying to ruin each other’s throws. I notice a metal object flash from the middle boy’s pocket to the figure of a girl on the right of him. The boy on the left is watching the rock as it's thrown and booing when it gets in. The girl collects the rock from the tin and goes to have her go but it ends up hitting the shop window and bouncing off into some shit on the road. They all laugh at her and shrug it off, sitting down on the curb.

"When's you have to be in for, Tom?" 

The girl asks the boy who was in the middle, but is now sitting on the left. He shrugs at her and grins. 

"Haven't got one, 'ave i? Dad says I can't keep away from the ones with them spots and marks on* so he's kicked me out the house for as long as he can ‘elp it." 

He laughs a bit, his arms resting on the knees that are bouncing at a fast pace. 

All the kids look pretty shoddy, the boy - Tom, I'm guessing, doesn't even have shoes. They're all evidently freezing but paying no attention to it. Their shivering gives that away, though. I’d be shivering too. Shoulda brought a better jacket to the other side.

"My dad says that death follows you, y’know. Says I shouldn't be near you ‘cos I'll end up meetin’ the angels." 

The other boy comments. He's now sat in the middle with the girl clutching his arm, her brown hair in a recognisable classic mess (looks like my own locks, come to think of it - bloody hell, we both need a hairbrush) sprawled across his shoulder.

"Well, me mam says I ‘ave ta be in by 6. Gotta ‘elp with shop ‘n that. So we're not duds cheer* by the end’a next year." 

The girl and middle boy collectively scoff in disbelief. Tom looks over at a clock hanging on a wall.

"That's soon! Can't you stay a bit longer? It's well boring here" He complains. 

It's the girl’s turn to laugh.

This tells me that it's winter. Late in the year, as it's gone dark by 5pm. I take it upon myself to look at the clock too. 5:57pm. Not bad for a ghost, guessing the time, when it’s a whole new reality for me. Although it looks like time’s the same wherever you are.

"Hoi, check ya pocket!" 

She suddenly goes, a grin creeping on her ratty face. He pats his tatty jacket before glaring at her.

"’ave you taken my… you muff filcher*! Give me it back!’

He stands up and reaches out for her. She reaches into her pocket, giggling like a squid. The knife is held up to him and he snatches it back, sitting down with a thud. 

The knife slides back into his pocket and they all start talking again. The named boy, Tom, starts to look around himself. His eyes suddenly set on me. Instincts kick in and I fade back into the sewers as quickly as I can. 

I got completely distracted - I'm not here to people-watch. I’m not pervy Joe up on Fleet Street (well, nobody’s pervy Joe after I sorted him out). Remember your goal, Flo. Get the ring and get the fuck outta here.

My feet hit the floor (or as close as they can get to hitting the floor) just in time to hear the sound of a drain a short way away scraping against the roads. There's the splashing sound of feet hitting the stream. This _has_ to be the boy I'm here for. I’m counting on it to get me outta here.

The sounds of movements stop and there's a whistle call. Silence follows. The noises continue and he appears with one hand on the archway. In my time, that archway's completely filled up with rocks, mud and shit like that.

A rat scuttles over his shoe as he looks around. He notices me and his eyes go wide, mouth dropping open. He steps back once and trips on something, falling onto his arse in the running stream of god knows what. (I dunno why I say that. It’s London, so it’s going to be piss and shit, innit?)

I look at this boy, my eyebrow raised. I wasn't aware he wouldn't even know what I was here for - how stupid is that?! All this bullshit about fulfilling what's drawn them to not passing on and they turn around and don't even know you when you go somewhat out of your way to help them. Bloody ridiculous. 

Angered, I storm towards him. I can imagine the splash my feet would make as I wade through the stream (it is piss. My sense of smell is unimpaired). I get a centimetre from his face, before collecting myself. Do I really want to kill the person that's tying me to life and death? I'm smarter than this, aren’t I - I better be.

The flames in my eyes die down and I just look at him with my best 'you’re dead as fuck' look, hearing his heavy breathing. Good. He should be scared. His watery half-closed blue eyes are illuminated by my ghostly-white glow. (Wait, I glow? This is new. I can use that.)

I take my time to formulate the right words. What do you say when you're face to face with someone who's reality is so different to what you expected them to know? (It’s definitely not ‘fuck off, you cowardly twat’.) I see his foggy breath. Another reminder I'm the impostor.

"What if I told you I knew you." 

He jumps. I continue to yap away

"Yeah yeah…"

I remember how close I am and back away 

"Well, see, I'm from -"

The words I'm trying to find just don't come. London? But a cooler London, where women can breathe without men trying to choke them, and gays have rights and stuff. Yeah, I doubt that’d work.

"You can talk?"

He whispers, trying to stand himself back up.

"That's not the bleedin’ point!"

"You can talk!" 

All the fear seems to escape him. He gives an exasperated laugh with a smile creeping onto his face.

"I thought you was - turns out you're not. Hahah!" 

He continues to laugh.

The fire relights itself in my eyes. I want to grab him by his manky collar and drag him out of the sewer for a long trip off a short plank straight into the Thames. Him being the one taking the plunge. Unwillingly.

A series of back-and-forth, too tiring to list here, takes place. I explain everything several times until he eventually comes round. Must be shocking taking tips from a ghost. I only let the fire in my eyes die down for the sake of profit. Inside I’m still absolutely fed up and with more than just him.

He shrugs, nods and folds his arms looking at me. With his back to the wall he falls against it, thudding and splashing at the same time.

"What do you go by then?" He asks

"Flo, you?" My hands go in my puffer jacket and my eyes trail off to a rat scuttling by with a sparkle. 

"I'm Armin but most folks call me Bash…" 

I try to do that thing poltergeists do. I lift my hand, putting my attention on the sparkling rat and against all odds it fucking works. Out of my own mud crusted fingertips, my ghostly glow shoots out to the rat like the bullshit theories about alien abductions. It surrounds the rat and it starts to rise, legs still running without going forward. That soon turns to a frantic air swim.

"Bash it is, then." 

I respond, despite being busy with the rat. His eyes follow my glow and the rat with a deep confusion on his face. He should be scared. Who knew being a ghost was so blummin’ cool?

I draw the rat nearer and reach out for it. I grab its leg and as soon as I do it starts to go blue and swollen. Spreading through it's body until it becomes a lifeless puffy ball of burnt fur and cold skin. I take it in both my hands. All the glow and magic stops. Around its neck is a necklace with a shiny diamond. It's a tangled mess. I root around for the clasp. Bash watches it all silently.

I eventually find it and loosen it. The necklace rolls off. I inspect it and shove it in my pocket. Catching my hand on my spirit cape as I pull it out. I'm not sure how I got a solid object into the pocket of a ghost. But somehow I did. Weird, innit? 

"What do you do, ‘cos you ain't a tosher and you definitely ain't afraid of dirt!" 

The boy asks me, hoisting himself up from the wall, starting to - well - tosh around.

Tosher. Should've known. A tosher is what I am, but it's not the same because they do it through shit in the sewers and I do it on the beach, and they ain’t got to worry about ghost-touch as much. Well, this one does.

"Somethin’ of that kind."

I shrug, dropping the rat. It splashes in the water causing all the surrounding rats to scarper.

The muddy Bash boy reminds me of why I'm here. I've got to find the ring. So we get to work. Him helping while doing what he does - toshing - and me getting the hang of these new found ghostly powers. Lifting things out of place, throwing ‘em, dropping ‘em. After a good 20 minutes I figure out how to make the water ripple. 

The search continues in an awry silence and all that's going through my head are questions. Why does he give so much of a rat’s arse over a bloody ring? How does this weird time portal actually work? And, to throw a real cog in the works - do I want a bacon sarnie or scrambled eggs for breakfast? 

I feel like I have to say something, ask something. Being who I am. I want to know things. For some reason, today the other side and it's weird time loop black hole has thrown my usual thoughts and patterns into a blundering storm that's trying it's damnedest to turn me into one of the shipwrecks. But my crew (brain, muscles, limbs, whatnot) is strong and we can man the ship through it.

"So, why'd you care then?" Shit, that's a terrible question to ask. If you could see between the layer of mud (or if I wasn’t a ghost that probably doesn’t have an active blood system) I'm sure I'd be red. He looks up at me and snickers. Twat doesn't understand how lucky he is to still be breathing. But I guess life will challenge that idea in 2 weeks without any help from me. Just how the world works, innit?

"Why'd I care? About you. I don't. About the ring. Just do. Anyfing else you feel like askin’ in such detail" 

He scoffs with a shrug. A halfpenny making its way into his pocket sharpish.

I roll my eyes, another 5 minutes go by. The idea of the ring’s backstory tugs at my mind. I try to draw strings. A way to ask, without scaring him off (hah!)

"Y’know, I've always liked rings. Since my mum pawned hers. Can get some real money from a good ring. What about you?" 

Not looking at him I start talking, lifting up something caught in the water making little ripples. It's a paste sapphire, to my best guess. But it twinkles like nobody’s business.

He stops abruptly, glances in my direction and sighs.

"If you wanna, just ask, it ain't that hard."

"Fine."

"So it was my mum's, yeah?"

I think for a second. 

"Yeah."

"When I was a babe she got it as a gift, from my dad. Before he…" 

He motions with a 'sckkh' noise across his neck, pretending to slit his own throat.

"So it meant a lot to us. A piece of ‘im. That's just ‘ow it is. Life's short, you understand that, don’t ya?"

For him it definitely is. It used to be for me, too. I’ve seen many die and almost died myself more times than I can count. We have a lot in common.

"Well, she wore it all the time, y’know, then she found this other man. Yeah he ain't an ‘alf bad looker, seeing as ‘e works with shit and shovels, but ‘e's worse than a piece a’ shit. ‘e was right sweet at first. That's how my mum fell for ‘im, the greasy bastard."

He sighs, leaning back against the wall. A thud and a splash. 

"So ‘e was nice. ‘elped us pay the rent. ‘elped us pay the tick*. Then we found ‘e had an ‘abit with the drinks. Get a couple bits of chink* from work, goes in seconds down at the Red Herring*."

A familiar tale. Despite the distance between us, I knew plenty of kids with exactly the same story. I just hope his had ended well. I’m beginning to feel sorry for this little scrap of a boy. I’d better help him find that ring - getting stuck in a sewer for all of time would be an ‘orrible fate for both of us.

"Then 'e'd come back to our fine establishment."

He scoffs to himself and chuckles. _Not_ a fine establishment. If I'm to make any guesses.

"Start shouting. Causing a right mafficking*. And it was just that at first. Ruined my sleep but the random drunks outside do a good job of that anyways..."

Suddenly there’s a noise. Bash tenses up like a rabbit. All traces of storytelling end. His mind goes elsewhere. He whistles, and even though it should be alien to me, I know exactly what he’s doing and what’s happened.

That whistle is to make sure there aren’t any toshers in the sewers. Up where I am, we have the same kinda thing. I know there's a certain rhythm, a certain tune. It's mostly in good company but not always. For his sake right now I hope it's good. I'm starting to feel for him special. Like Locky or George.

The whistle gets answered. There's a silence. The sounds of feet splashing through the piss, shit and 'water' starts up. Bash looks at me. I look at him. We both know what needs to happen. I need to disappear.

Good thing I’m a fucking ghost then, innit? And not just a Type One. Not even a Type Three. A Type Flo. 

I think, hard. How do you disappear, vanish, fade into an ectoplasmic nothingness…? Type Threes do that. So I must.

A boy appears from the tunnels, he takes no notice of me. The glow that once radiated the tunnel wall is gone. Bash looks around. Not at me. That's it. I'm gone. I did it. Well, of course I did it. I’m more than Flo, I’m a Type Flo ghost and no mistake. These boys gotta watch out.

They start to talk, the other lad greets him with the playful name of 'Bashy Bashy Boy', much to his disliking. They talk, real hushed. Barely audible whispers. The sewer does a good echo but they know a way around it. 

The lad is sly. He's clearly older with a stubbly chin and ears shooting out from the sides of his head. He reeks of beer, sweat and shit. I reckon he'd be sticky to the touch. Like the carpets in theatres and clubs, when I’ve snuck in for some stealing.

I realise my approach to anyone other than my boy Bash is like my response to anyone who isn't Locky but happens to be close with him. (Apart from George, of course). But I know this fellow is slimy. You can tell by how he cocks his head, how he cracks his knuckles every now and again (and that does echo), how his ugly grin creeps on his face at the end of a sentence.

A lowlife bastard who needs a good kickin’. With some iron boots.

Then I get a thought. What do the other toshers know? What if the ring isn't _lost._ What if it's been taken?

From what happens next, I decide that it's definitely the latter.

There's a snigger from the nasty one, a look back to his mate who's been standing around the corner silently the whole time. His hand disappears into his pocket and from what I can tell, something is being played around with in his hand (no, not like _that_ ). Something small. Small and metallic. With a hole in the middle.

Scraggly chin gives Bash a playful punch on the shoulder before slinking off back into the tunnel-maze. It’s my time to act, and I do. I make myself seen again.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Bash whispers out at me as I storm off, through the tunnel. Into the maze. If it wasn't for the sloshing of feet I'd lose them. Thank fuck for the sewers.

I use ghost lock, because I can and because it’s fun. And just like that, I’m squeezing the life out of them, and it feels like cocaine.

In my most menacing voice, I whisper to them. Their eyes are wide and the dodgy one looks ready to shit himself. Yeuch. 

I laugh, how the tables have turned. He's no longer a grinning rotten-toothed tosher. No, now he's a scared shitless 20-something nobody who's only ever achievement was getting over the Great Stink*.

I want the ring. I need the ring. I make him feel this with every inch of my being. Will he drop the ring? _He will or I will make him nothing. Worse than nothing._

The other boy, I never really gave him a second glance, and apart from ghost lock he has it easy. Ginger hair flowing and wide eyes staring at big ears. His eyes are saying 'what have you done' but he knows. He definitely knows.

Despite my warnings. Ignoring the threats. He doesn't hand it over. Partially because I stopped him from moving. But he refuses even verbally. So I take matters into my own hands. With one hand out causing ghostlock and creeping fears, I use the other to do what I've learnt to do best. Poltergeist stuff. Let’s fuck this shit up.

Like the rat, I notice that there's something that doesn't belong. The alien-like light shoots from my left hand straight to his pocket. He screams like a pig. The light slithers into the pocket. Snake-like, effective. Then I hit it. The ring.

Just as I did with the rat, I envelope the target and yank it towards me. The snaked light reverses, object in 'hand'. Then there it is. In front of me. A ring. Not gold, not silver, but pewter. About the cheapest material you can get.

I grasp it firmly in my hand, the light vanishes just like the last time. I look between the two boys. Eyes wide, mouths open.

"Give me one reason not to kill you."

I don't give them time to respond. Instead I loosen my grasp on the ginge and he goes running off and away. My grip on mr-sly-grin tightens.

No one gets away with hurting those I care about. Not on my watch. I glare at him. I copy his big headed fake grin, taking steps forwards in his direction. Not a single soul hurts those I care for. And I mean it, I really do.

I look him up and down and spit. Ectoplasm flies out, landing on his hand. The ghost lock is released. He flees immediately, one hand grasping the other (which is now turning all shades of blue, and shrivelling like a mummy).

The weight of pent-up rage disappears from my body and I’m feeling...light. Airy. I feel like I could walk on water. Well, I _can_ walk on water as the ultimate type Flo ghost. But as normal Relic hunting Flo. That’d be cool as fuck.

A rare smile creeps onto my face and with it my legs start to kick forward and I make my way back through the underground maze. Back to Bash, who's peering around the corner silently. He bites his chapped lips.

"What did you do?" He asks.

"What'd I do? You should be asking what _he_ did."

I loosen my grip on the ring, and hold it in the air for him to see. His face lights up brighter than my Type Flo ghost ever could. It warms me. I feel like the Grinch when he gives a flying toss* for the first time. My heart expands and it's a shock. But it turns out to be a good thing. I'm not just a slut-shaming dirty hobo*. I have layers, like an onion. I smile at Bash. 

He runs towards me, hand outstretched to take his prize. My heart has grown but not that much. I close it in my fist again. Shaking my head. 

"We made a deal."

His arm lowers and he stops just in front of my natural glow.

"Oh. Oh yeah. We did"

There's a pause. He looks around. Thinking. Gears turning.

"I don't. I don't have the. I don't think I can make the de~"

I start to laugh, slapping my knees. The spirit-cape clinks along. All of its metal feathers are vibrating and I feel like a bird in a hurricane.

"No. I'm joking. Forget about it. You've already given me things I couldn't've imagined. And hey. I like you. At first I wanted to~"

"Way to drag it down. I 'ated you at first too. You're not 'alf bad. You're a real bricky*. I bet you do something tough. Not that you told me what. But I'll make up my own mind."

"It's not like you finished your ring backstory either."

"I could-" 

He pauses, placing a hand on his lip.

"Pass us the ring first. If you will."

"You know what. Yeah, finish it. Also, there's something you should know. You only have 2 weeks left."

I thought I was doing something right by telling him that. Giving him a heads up. His face goes from shock, to confusion and then complacency. I still can't tell if it was right or not. He doesn't press further. I open my palm and look down at the ring. He starts to continue where he last left off.

"Something about him shouting? Well, yeah, 'e was. Real bad. Then it started getting worse because fists got involved…"

I raise the ring up with my poltergeist alien powers and move it towards him. His palm shoots out and the ring starts to drop from my 'grasp'.

"So my mum gave me the ring for keepsa~"

The ring hits his hand and I'm blasted backwards in an intense gust of wind. The darkness cocoons me. I feel myself being pulled apart. Shredded like cheese then melted back into a solid block. Then there's blackness. 

\---

I wake up, face pressed into wet sand and mud against the wall separating the Thames and the rest of good ol’ London. I sit up, confused, brushing the wet grains off of my right cheek. I had the weirdest dream. Of meeting a boy around 16, being a strange ghost. Hell, I even held someone's life in my hands over… what was it? A necklace. No not that. Something else. A ring! It was a ring. It was all about a ring. Ah yeah, _that rings a bell_ (you're welcome). There was other stuff too. 10 year olds or younger playing and talking by the road. The sounds of horses clopping and wheels turning over cobblestones above my head. I was a weightless entity. Important. Above the rest.

What a weird dream.

I look down to find… I'm wearing the spirit cape. George's spirit cape. The one he gave me without asking why. Bless him. But why… ? And gloves. Everything. I'm kitted out for the Other Side yet the sun is shining. I can hear the buzz from my circle. I look over to where it is. A sewage entrance, abandoned in what I think is about 1870. That's where my dream took place. So it must have been before then. 1869? 

Holy fuck it felt so real.

But why is the buzz so loud? It's as if my powers are strengthened. Back to how they were before… that tragic night. 

No, it can't be.

I lift myself shakily from the ground, using the wall to support me. It's rough bricks managing to poke through my gloves. I feel so weak. So drained. 

I stumble my way to the entrance, ripping away the vines, bushes, leaves and bits of wood with great difficulty. And there it is. The light pouring in quietens the buzz within the circle that is untouched, unharmed. 

Then I remember how my dream started. There was a ring. It had fallen out. A ding, skid and pop.

I take all my gear off, letting it thunk clumsily on the floor. I make my way around the circle. My stomach rumbles. I'm due a bacon Sarnie*. I look to where the ring was in my dream and… nothing. There's no ring there. I mean of course there ain't?! It was a stupid dream. Not real. Made up. You can't do anything I dreamt of. It isn't possible.

But something feels off. It feels different somehow and I just can't put my finger on it. I look around myself. Scanning every wall, every object, every stone, brick and bits of mud blocking off the rest of the underground sewage maze. Then I notice something. Something I don't recognise. On a wall to the right, slightly further down is some wood nailed into the bricks. I make my way over.

There's a tiny crack between the planks so I peer through and… it's hollow? Curiosity peaks and I'm soon clawing at the nails, at the wood. Whichever will crack first. The wood goes first. Splintering into loads of tiny aged and unkept chunks. Inside is a cavity. A cavity with a little leather pouch. An old money pouch. I reach in and grab it. The strings being pulled open immediately.

Inside I find a ring made of… gold? Silver? No… pewter. One of the cheapest metals you can get. It's what's used at churches. It's also what was in my dream… what was on the other side (not _that_ other side) of the iron chain circle. I notice something else in the bag - a letter.

I take it out, putting everything else back in the little cavity so my hands are free. The note is carefully unfolded and within is a very badly written note.

**_too flow, i giiv yoo this as a wae ov thank's_ ** . **_armin, bash_ ***

It warms me but I'm left confused. If this note is real… if this ring is real… does that mean...?

I try to remember what else happened. 

A rat. There was a rat. It sparkled and shone and on it I found a necklace. A necklace I put in my pocket. I go to the pocket and rummage around. And wouldn't you fucking know it?? I pull out a beautiful necklace. Diamond. Worth a pretty penny.

Surely it can't have been real? No. No, it wasn't. I'm being stupid.

I stand and think. Think hard. If it did actually happen, what else could be proof? My hair! When Lucy and Locky traveled between those who are alive and those who are dead, they returned with grey streaks. I go through the strands of hair I can separate. Then I find it. A chunk the width of my pinkie. Greyed and old. 

What if it really wasn't a dream?

**Author's Note:**

> * Glossary  
> Proper gander - a closer look, when you're looking for something and trying to find clues. Sort of.  
> Leg it - run fast.  
> Hanger - hunger and anger.  
> Barmy - like saying bloody or mad or bizarre (can also mean you're a bit 'wrong' in the head or acting a bit crazy, but not in this scenario.).  
> Bird - girl. Referring to a woman. Not necessarily seen as negative to say.  
> Bollocks - bullshit, made up nonsense.  
> Spots and marks - smallpox, or something similar.  
> Duds cheer - poor, barely a penny to your name.  
> Muff filcher - it's actually two different slangs in one, muff is a silly person and filcher is a thief. So what's being said is "you stupid thieving idiot". Basically.  
> Tick - it's like an IOU for shops. Common in slums. Or as it was called, a rookery.  
> Chink - money, coins.  
> Red Herring - made up pub name.  
> Mafficking - someone who gets rowdy in the streets. Loud. Shouty. Argumentative.  
> The great stink - this was in 1858 (basically up until a new sewage system was completed and opened in 1870 where everything just constantly smelt vile because all the shit and piss from houses were in the Thames and everywhere. Like in big pits and stuff. It started from a really hot summer. The hotter your shit gets the worse it smells.Basically like our discord server.  
> Flying toss - saying give a shit basically  
> Hobo - idk if this is a commonly used word, it's just a scruffy person/someone who looks stereotypically homeless/a homeless person.  
> too flow, i giiv yoo this as a wae ov thank's. armin, bash - To Flo, I give you this as a way of thanks. Armin, aka Bash.


End file.
